


catharsis

by entrechat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Implied Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, matsuhana or iwamatsu, take your pick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entrechat/pseuds/entrechat
Summary: Pushing air out of his throat and into the space around him seems futile. Roots seem to sprout from his chest, but grounding him was the last thing they dared to do. They dragged up his body until they wrapped around his throat, clinching the desperate need for euphoria in the form of oxygen. Nothing in or out.Issei hasn't quite used up all his cries.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 88





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> cw: descriptions similar to those of panic attacks  
> this fic has [art](https://twitter.com/kuehjpg/status/1315472718091882502?s=21) now!
> 
> dyl-annotation: MATSU ARE YOU OKAY DON'T LIE  
> kudos and comments are appreciated  
> enjoy~

Inhale. Exhale.

Matsukawa Issei does not cry.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Matsukawa Issei is not a victim of weakness.

Inhale.

There was a time in Issei’s life where he was convinced he was simply no longer capable of crying. He was a quiet baby according to his mother. Never temperamental, usually well behaved. Issei thought he had simply used up all his cries. External emotions were something that didn’t come naturally. But, now...

Exhale.

A lump formed in Issei’s throat. A lump not quite associated with nervousness or anticipation. It was foreign, forcing Issei to pause and take stock. He racked his brain for reasoning but came up empty. It was difficult trying to form some understanding of something he’d never experienced before.

“Mattsun!” Oikawa shouted, breaking Issei out of his fruitless thought process.

Issei whipped his head skyward, traveling forward in four quick steps, bending his knees and vaulting from the balls of his feet. His right arm pulled back and came down in a swing, hand connecting heavily with the ball. In the space of one breath the ball had collided with the other side of the court and rolled towards the back wall. Issei’s feet found the ground in the form of a heavy thud and his sneakers squeaking against hardwood.

“Nice kill,” echoed from several members of his team.

Barely able to give a nod, Issei turned on the ball of his foot to move to the back line for his turn to serve. Back to the net, he swallowed down the heaviness he felt and gripped the ball a little tighter. Breathing was suddenly much more difficult. Issei had to consciously pull oxygen into his lungs and force out a breath. In a daze, Issei turned to serve, going through the motions almost mechanically.

Issei can’t remember how he got here.

The ball hits the top of the net and falls back down on his side of the court. Issei clenches and releases the tension in his jaw and turns to trade places with Shinji.

“Don’t mind, Matsukawa-san,” Shinji placates, patting Issei’s shoulder as they swap.

“Uh huh,” Issei mumbles as he steps into the warm up box and his eyes glaze over watching Shinji take up the rearguard.

If Issei could somehow backtrack the specific moments that led up to this amalgamation of _something_ he couldn’t quite pinpoint or name, he doesn’t know if he’d take that opportunity. Of course it’d be nice to what was causing this utter dread, but would Issei know how to prevent it either way?

Dread.

Issei’s stomach drops to his feet and the world spins. He barely hears the ball hit the court as his team scores the next point and excels the rotation. He can’t quite make out the figures on the court beyond blobs of hair color and blue shirts. Everything has gotten far too blurry and blinking is doing little to help the sudden affliction. Issei squints and he can barely see Tooru’s mouth moving through the streaky haze.

Tooru gets a ball tossed to him for his serve but turns to find Issei’s eyes in the warm up box. Issei scrubs a hand down his face to try and fight off some of the cloudiness. He thinks he can make out Tooru telling him, “Your jump was drifting.”

There’s a warning light that goes off in Issei’s head. Issei doesn’t always listen to his personal warnings. 

Something is different this time.

Without a second thought Issei lightly grips Shigeru’s shoulder, the closest person standing near him, to get his attention

Inhale.

“I’m- I’ll be right back.”

“But what about the game?” Shigeru bites before Issei has time to flee.

_It’s just a practice match, Yahaba,_ Issei wants to shout. He doesn’t. “Tell Sawauchi to sub in if I’m not back.”

Without waiting for confirmation Issei releases his hold and is out the gym door in six long strides. He’s never been more grateful for his long legs than in this moment. The cold air hits his skin and he almost doubles over with the way something shatters in his throat and tries to claw its way to the surface. He’s in the school bathroom locked in a stall and leaning his back against the door before he can form a rational thought. He’s safer here.

Exhale.

Issei’s resolve shatters like lightning splintering apart the trunk of a tree. It’s nearly fatal. Once there’s impact, Issei loses all hope of picking up the pieces.

Inhale. Exhale. _Exhale_. Breathe dammit.

Pushing air out of his throat and into the space around him seems futile. Roots seem to sprout from his chest, but grounding him was the last thing they dared to do. They dragged up his body until they wrapped around his throat, clinching the desperate need for euphoria in the form of oxygen. Nothing in or out. Everything was simply trapped, forced to settle against the crack in his lungs.

Why can’t he breathe?

The walls close in on him and he’s desperate for some sort of comfort. Anything to break the hold this heaviness has on him. If Issei thinks hard enough — with no help from his panic addled mind — he remembers being told that in the case of hyperventilation, circulating air helps with calming down. Open palms cradle his head and he holds his breath, forcing himself to breathe in his cupped hands until he finally regulates.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Issei’s hands curl into loose fists, nestling against his eyes as he caves in on himself, forcing himself to be smaller than he is. His chest rises and falls now, each ragged line of air stuttering through his lips. When Issei pulls his hands from his face to drop his head against the stall door with a thud, the soft pain ruminating against his skull reminds him where he is. Despite the grip on reality loosening, he feels himself come back down to Earth. He glances down through heavy eyes to look at his fingers, elbows resting against his knees. An incriminating sniffle accompanies the feeling of wetness on his cracked fingertips. He runs his thumbs across the pads of calluses. Issei’s teeth catch the edge of his bottom lip and he instinctively chews at the skin, tearing off pieces in confusion. He swallows thickly and lifts a tentative hand to touch at his cheeks. His fingers come back wet again. Issei’s eyebrows come together in a grimace and his eyes dart back and forth. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He tucks his head and pulls the collar of his shirt over his face to wipe his tears. Issei lifts his head back up and is only left with pearlescent drops clumping his eyelashes together and his cheeks burning with tear tracks.

Denial comes easier than acceptance. Issei’s well acquainted with denial. He clamors to his feet, shoulder bumping one of the walls as he pushes out of his locked stall and finds himself face to face with a mirror. His grip on the edge of the sink is desperate.

“Crying?” Issei mumbles aloud, leaning forward like his own eyes are deceiving him.

His skin looks sickly under the bathroom lights, but the teardrops catch the fluorescent ceiling light. Issei had been told people could look pretty when they cry. Tooru was a blubbering mess, with snot and his eyes puffing out. Takahiro was better off, but when Issei saw him cry he didn’t think him beautiful, he just thought Takahiro was in pain. The rare times Issei ever saw Hajime cry, he looked strong.

Looking at himself, Issei wonders what he’d be considered.

Issei cocks his head at his reflection and has to consciously stop himself from grinding his molars together. Stupid. Why was he crying? His eyes, hazy with tears, find themselves red-rimmed. He was supposed to be on the court. He wasn’t supposed to be cowering in the restroom.

“Pull yourself together, Issei,” he hisses at himself. “Fuck,” slips out in a breathy plea.

A hiccup enters Issei’s ear. Another tumbles past his chest and into the air. The third hiccup makes Issei realize it’s coming from him. He chokes on a whine and doubles over, his only support coming from his grip on the sink.

His body shudders with the force and within an instant he loses control.

Issei wills the floor to open up and swallow him whole. To remove him from the moment and never be brought back. He hates his tears. He hates the raw feeling in his throat as his mouth opens in a sob that never is heard.

Something snakes around Issei’s heart and squeezes. He melts to his knees, arms crossed across the sink basin. He wants to hide. He wants to be invisible. He wants to be free from whatever has subjected him to this whirlwind of grief. He can’t make out the cause, he can’t even make out what was the final straw that broke his back. Issei drops his head against his arms and weeps. It’s not open or unrestrained. He’s trying with everything in him to maintain normalcy that will never come.

A knock comes on the bathroom door and Issei whimpers. He can’t be seen like this.

“Matsukawa?” comes a low voice. His ears feel stuffed with cotton and Issei can’t decipher who’s waiting for him on the other side.

Issei doesn’t move. He doesn’t trust himself to stand.

“The practice match finished. Are you in there, Matsukawa?” He can’t make out a nasally lilt coupled by a nickname. He rules out Tooru and feels selfishly thankful it’s not his captain. That’s not the comfort he needs.

Inhale.

The door handle turns and Issei curls in tighter, refusing to look up as shoes squeak against the tile. He gulps down his fears but stays still. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until a hand grips his shoulder and it feels unwavering and warm against him. The warmth spreads across his chest and burns away the ash filling his lungs. Arms wrap around his torso, over his shoulder and under his arms. It’s tight and restrictive but somehow he feels himself breathe again.

Exhale.

“You’re alright. I gotcha. Just let it out,” the voice coaxes.

Issei leans into the touch, hands falling to grip the arms around him. The sob echoes against all four walls and settles.

The sound breaks the hold Issei has on himself and he shatters with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/matsucockwa)


End file.
